


ficlet: conversation

by belovedmuerto



Series: He Kindly Stopped For Me [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Gen, M/M, death!john, demigod!Sherlock, demigod!mycroft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-04-28
Packaged: 2018-01-21 04:25:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1537469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belovedmuerto/pseuds/belovedmuerto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Mycroft have a conversation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ficlet: conversation

**Author's Note:**

> These ficlets follow after the prologue I posted ages ago. I've been having fun with this 'verse without committing to a bigger story right now.
> 
> As such, these are in no particular order so far, and I'm not putting them into a series yet, until I get a bit more written. They were all originally posted on my tumblr.

John and Sherlock have been avoiding each other the whole time they’ve all been with Sherlock and Mycroft’s mother, John’s former niece. Sherlock has been little more than a ghost, occasionally seen wandering the halls or haunting the kitchen, when he’s not shut up in his tiny little lab in the basement, next to the wine cellar.

John has been observed by both Sophia and Mycroft Holmes, and probably Sherlock as well, walking the grounds and the halls of the house, looking like thunder and damnation itself.

No one really speaks to either of them, and they certainly don’t speak to anyone, especially each other.

\----

Mycroft finds John in the long gallery on the first floor, walking slowly, staring intently at the different portraits of the Holmes family throughout the ages. There are a great number of repeated faces in different modes of dress, from all over the world.

He watches John for a moment, attempting to gauge his mood, before stepping up beside him silently.

John allows his presence, merely glances at him, and continues on to the next portrait. For a while, they walk together in silence. John doesn’t seem overly angry, not at the moment anyway. 

“Mummy has been inquiring after you,” Mycroft ventures, after a while. He’s not sure if it’s wise to try and draw John out, but he does know that John’s anger with Sherlock is tearing his younger brother up, and Mycroft worries about him. He worries about both of them.

John doesn’t answer, but he does nod.

They walk on, until John stops abruptly in front of a particular portrait. It’s one that Mycroft is very familiar with, as well as its subject, as he attended many family holiday dinners growing up in his immense, awe-inspiring presence.

Thankfully, those don’t happen very often anymore.

John stares hard at the portrait for a few moments, and then sighs, his eyes falling shut.

Mycroft knows only a little of the situation between his grandfather and John--or rather, John’s alter-ego. His true self. He knows only what his mother has told him; Mycroft has always been smart enough to understand that one does not meddle in the affairs of Olympians when one is not quite immortal. It was Sherlock who used to cause much mischief on Olympos, when he was younger and more stupid. 

“You knew him for many ages,” Mycroft ventures, slowly. His curiosity is getting the better of him.

John looks at him sharply, and for a moment his eyes flash black, star-speckled, and Mycroft smells lilac and rose and new spring grass.

“Your grandfather is a massive dick,” John replies. He sniffs, an indicator of his rage, Mycroft thinks.

“Yes,” he agrees. It’s not untrue.

“In my experience, there are only two things of concern to Zeus the Almighty,” John continues, scorn dripping from every word. “The pursuit of power, and the pursuit of sex. Bonus points if they come in the same package.”

“Yes,” Mycroft agrees, again. This is not something he’s unfamiliar with. He’s met the man, after all.

John sighs again, and paces away from the portrait. Mycroft follows after him.

“My mother has told me some of what transpired between you,” he ventures, leading. 

John glances at him. “Your mum doesn’t know the half of it.”

“What happened?”

John stops and looks at Mycroft fully. “Why do you want to know?”

“I’m curious.”

“Why?”

“You intrigue my brother. You inspire awe in my mother.” Mycroft shrugs. “I’m curious, John Watson. Why do you dress yourself in mortality and wander the earth? Most of us are terribly eager to leave it.”

John shrugs. “I like humans.”

After a moment, he sighs and shrugs again. “I was on walkabout. On holiday. That’s what this is meant to be, Mycroft. A holiday.”

He waves that away and goes on. “I had a family. A wife, children--”

“Children?”

“Yeah. Not something I do very often. Or at all, really, anymore. It tends to cause issues.”

“Issues?”

“Psychic abilities, that sort of thing. Dimension walking, time travel, insanity. I try not to let it happen anymore. But she wanted kids, so very badly. And I loved her very much. I made amphorae, for a living. It was honest work.”

John’s eyes cloud, and he looks away briefly. “I was on a walk. Minding my own business, and Zeus spots me.”

Mycroft watches as John’s fists clench and unclench, and he sniffs again at the remembered injustice. “So the next thing I know, I’m twitching on the ground. The bastard smote me. And he leans over me, grinning that fucking grin of his, and he starts speaking, and it took me too long to realize what he was doing.”

Neither of them speak for a moment. John is staring at his wrists, at something only he can see. When he looks up, his eyes are black again, star-speckled again, and this time Mycroft smells rain and wine.

“After that he banished me to his so-called Hades, made me king of his version of the afterlife. And there was nothing I could do about it; I was bound to him.”

For a long time, neither of them speaks. They start walking again. John steps are sharp and angry. 

Eventually, Mycroft dares to break the silence again. “My grandfather bound you for love of power,” he says.

“He’s a massive wanker,” John replies.

Mycroft forges on, perhaps unwisely. “My brother bound you for love.”

John stops short and stares at Mycroft. His eyes remain deep blue and human. After a moment he laughs, a short, sharp, not at all mirthful sound. “Careful, Mycroft. Sentiment.”

He stalks off, and Mycroft does not go after him.


End file.
